


Almost Christmas

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmas, and Dean wants to make it count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For [Wincest Advent Calendar](http://wincestadventcalendar.tumblr.com/post/105878979291/day-twelve).

* * *

 

When Dean had told him he was leaving for a few drinks with Castiel, Sam hadn't expected him home sober. Castiel was his second excuse to get drunk - really drunk - while the first excuse was the conveniently progressing holiday season. Just the same Sam was faced with two surprises when Dean finally did resurface through the bunker's doors, having received a ride from the always sober angel of the Lord, and the biggest had to be that he wasn't completely shitfaced. No, quite the contrary: Dean seemed to be perfectly able to walk on his own, even if walking a straight line would have been too much to ask. He was cheerful to fit the spirit of Christmas, too, but that wasn't the second surprise for Sam. The second surprise was that he came bearing gifts. Literally: he had presents in his arms, two for Sam and one for himself.

"It's almost Christmas," he noted, landing the whole bunch on the study's table right between the abandoned coffee cups from earlier.  
"Two for you, one from me and one from Cas, and one for me, from Cas, unless you've buried secrets here somewhere while I haven't been watching."

Sam laughed.  
"Dude, when have I ever not had a present for you?" he asked, smile toning down as he wondered what to do with the situation.  
"You wanna have an early Christmas? Since we're - since we're not gonna be home for the big day."

Dean's smile could have lit up the whole hall.  
"That's exactly what I was thinking, which is why..."  
He dropped his bag from his shoulder and the sound it made as it hit the ground spoke a language of its own.  
"... I brought additional, season-appropriate drinks. It's cold outside, so, uh, how about we start getting hammered with some good, hot mulled wine? I had to walk like twenty feet in there and I'm already chilled."

Sam shook his head, sighing.  
"I'm pretty sure you got started with the drinks on the way in, man," he noted with a grin on his face, his hand reaching out as he spoke.  
"Give that to me and I'll get it done."

"Sure thing."

*

There was a plastic Christmas tree stored away in the bunker's storage from some years earlier; it, along with the box of decorations, was dragged into Sam's room and planted on a small easily relocated bedside table. Dean tucked the presents under that table and covered them with the excess white tinsels; although Sam rolled his eyes at the sight, once the lights were off and the room bathed in the warm yellow glow of the small lights criss-crossing the fake tree's green, he had to admit they looked homely and nice and strangely warm despite the fact that they were supposed to imitate snow. The red wrappings on the presents, excluding the blue paper on the present that he'd bought for Dean a week earlier, poked out from underneath the glittery white like the very image of Christmas itself, and before the pile sat a thermos full of steaming hot mulled wine and some bottles for spiking right next to it.  
On the table - the one that actually belonged in the room - sat two glasses of eggnog, waiting for the chosen movie to begin just as the brothers were.

"I can't wait to sleep in tomorrow," Dean sighed, settling on the couch and patting the spot next to him.

Sam landed there as requested, body heavy and relaxed by the glass of alcohol he'd already drank downstairs before the whole idea of setting up a proper Christmas room in his bedroom had hit Dean and caught onto him just the same.

"How was the bar run?" the younger asked with a crooked smile on him.

"Brilliant."  
Dean's voice was honest but it also spoke of the end of that conversation; Sam didn't ask more about it.  
"And you've been..."

"Don't ask," Sam laughed, "God, I started out looking through the evidence Jody sent us and then I got sidetracked and, man, I wasted the whole day doing nothing."

"Sounds like heaven," Dean chuckled in turn, reaching for the glasses set on the table.  
"Drink first, open presents after the movie?"

"Whatever you want."

"Good. That's the plan, then. Merry Christmas, brother."

Sam reached for his own glass; the sound of the filled cups colliding was sharp in the small bedroom's muffled atmosphere.  
"Merry Christmas."

*

Castiel had acquired thick, long scarves for them both; they came rolled up like small decorative pillows, Sam's a uniform blue-grey and Dean's a red like summer skyline at sunset. The older claimed he'd never wear it, but when Sam rolled it around his throat, body-locking the smaller down in the corner of the couch to manage it despite Dean's struggles, the colour seemed to enhance the brightness of his eyes and suit him a way that no shade of red should have.

"I'd wear that on a date," Sam noted, laughing as he landed back on his side of the couch.  
He wondered if his night-time asphalt coloured scarf had the same effect on him; in the barely lit darkness, he didn't feel like wandering off to the mirror to see. He could figure it out later. Regardless it was warm and soft and surprisingly didn't tickle him; it was comfortable to wear and if the weather would stay the way it was now, he'd inevitably have use for it later.

"And that right there is exactly why you don't go on dates. Open your damn presents."

Yet Dean didn't take the scarf off - it hung loosely on his shoulders for a while until, while Sam was unwrapping the Christmas-themed and seasonally spiced cream liqueur, he finally did adjust it and pull it tighter around his neck. The bottle glittered as the younger lifted it up, grinning.  
"So, what? You've renounced your opinions of girl drinks?"

"There's no girl drink. There's just drink. No shame in it, Sam."

"Thanks."  
The younger balanced the bottle on his hands and examined it for a while with a smile on him; he was worried how it would taste but when Dean bought something, he'd usually tried it beforehand and declared it safe for consumption.  
"Your turn."

Dean nodded.  
He pulled out the only present wrapped in deep blue and rolled it around in his hands, shook it and pressed his ear against it causing Sam to scoff dramatically before he finally started to tear at the corner of the paper.  
"It's not an ugly Christmas sweater," Dean guessed, revealing the first slice of the original white packaging from below.

Sam chuckled.  
"No, it's not an ugly Christmas sweater. I thought you'd like that more."

"Dammit, Sam."  
The paper came off in long drags, revealing a large box depicting high-quality headphones on its cover.  
"You either stole this or there _is_ a sweater in here."

"Open it."

More tape came off the packaging. Sam watched with a smile as Dean unloaded the headphones and the ten different instructions pamphlets from within.

"So that's why you refused to make a stop at Walmart when I told you I want to get a replacement for the pair that broke," Dean muttered, lifting his present and landing it on his head.  
With the scarf and the headphones equipped, he looked about ready to begin exploring the North Pole; Sam's smile widened into a grin again and he laughed, twisting open his present bottle and pouring them both a glass from it.  
Dean reached for his, sliding off the headphones with his free hand.

"Next year," Sam noted, "I'll just get you a sweater."

"I'll hold you to that."

"What, afraid I'll wish for a pony next and you'll feel obliged to get me one?"

"Don't you _want_ a pony already?" Dean asked, cleaning up the couch while sipping at his glass.  
He seemed to glow - it was still rare, if not as rare as it had been some years earlier, for Sam to see him that way. Although the liqueur was good, there wasn't a better present than seeing Dean happy for once.  
He let out a small sigh and leaned back into the soft embrace of the couch, closing his eyes to just exist in that moment; sleep and alcohol both weighted heavy within him, but he wasn't quite ready to let go of this yet.

His enjoyment was cut to a warm weight landing over his lap.  
"Dude."

"I'm tired."

"We're both tired and we're both drunk but you don't just throw yourself across the couch and sleep on me with that excuse."

"I'm not sleeping. I'm just resting. It's not a crime."

Sam opened an eye just to peer at Dean spread over his lap - the man's feet, wrapped in thick knitted socks, rested over the arm rest on the side of the couch he'd previously occupied, and everything from his shoulders up was set quite comfortably over Sam's legs.  
The older had an instruction manual in his hands and he was flipping through the Spanish pages for a reason unknown to Sam, and slowly the younger opened his both eyes to just watch him be there like he'd suddenly turned into a child again. He'd only ever seen Dean like this on one Christmas, and it had been so many years ago he'd almost forgotten it: he'd been so small himself that he'd only ever realised the value of that memory when he'd left for Stanford and found himself aching to return to the small good things like that one evening.  
They'd had a proper tree, even if it wasn't their own, and the warmth of a fireplace at their backs. Presents, while not many and mostly practical, had made Dean jump up midway through opening them and cling to John for minutes while Sam distinctively remembered feeling left out and jealous; the idea now made him chuckle out loud. He loved that memory.

"What?" Dean asked him, roused by the laughter that seemed to spring up from nothing.

"Nothing," Sam automatically said, a crooked smile on him again.  
"I'm just happy."

He watched the older close his eyes despite promising to not sleep; if he would, Sam would eventually and without mercy roll him down from his lap, but for the sake of the evening, he could stay there for a while.  
"Me too, Sam." 


End file.
